Blood of Innocence (Sloan Skye) (6 page)

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Authors: Tami Dane

BOOK: Blood of Innocence (Sloan Skye)
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When he returned to the car, Elmer looked a million times better. He grinned, showing off a set of pointed teeth that would make a piranha green with envy. “How do I look?”
“The clothes are a vast improvement. You might want to tone down the smile, though.”
“Too much teeth?”
“Too much.”
Nothing weighs on us so heavily as a secret.
—Jean de La Fontaine
 
6
 
Elmer played with the radio while we drove to the hall where the speed-dating event was being hosted. It wasn’t the nicest place, but it wasn’t the worst. The parking lot was jammed.
“This is going to be great!” Elmer said as a pair of long-legged women hobbled by on stilettos.
“Yeah, great,” I echoed, scanning the parking lot for males.
I saw plenty of women. Not one man.
Then again, considering my frame of mind (
men suck!
), that was probably a good thing.
“We shouldn’t walk in together,” Elmer mumbled. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinking we’re a couple.”
Ditched by my former-sorta-officially-still fiancé. What a loser I was. “Good point.” I slumped into the car to wait. While I was killing time, I continued to scan the area for anyone with a Y chromosome.
Not one.
Things were looking pretty damn good for Elmer. Me, not so much.
Fully expecting this to be two to three of the longest hours of my life, I straggled inside and followed the sign, heading down the set of wide steps to the Gold banquet room. I signed in at the entry and wandered inside.
“May I please have your attention?” a fairly attractive woman was saying. Standing at the far end of the room, she waved her arms. The room went still and silent. “I’d like all the gentlemen to stand over here, please.” She pointed at a corner. “Ladies, I would like you to take a seat at a table, please. We’ll begin shortly.”
There were dozens of tables, each with one chair on each side, facing each other. Within minutes, every table in the place was occupied. And I was still standing, after losing an impromptu game of musical chairs with the other women.
Oh, well. I’d sit this one out.
I backed myself toward the exit.
“I’m sorry,” the hostess said, rushing up to me. “We have a big crowd tonight. Much larger than normal.”
“Not a problem. I can come back another time.”
“Oh, absolutely not. You’re here. You must stay.” She took my hand in hers—her skin was cold, clammy—and yanked me toward the far end of the room. “Wait here.” She scurried off like a little mouse.
Feeling like I was being stared at, which I was, I glanced around nervously. Elmer gave me a toothy grin and a thumbs-up. I almost made a break for it; but before I got anywhere, the hostess was back. Two men—two gorgeous men—followed her, each one carrying a chair.
One set one behind me. The other set his in front of me. I thanked them both, wondering if they’d stick around for the fun.
They didn’t.
“Okay, we’ll begin in five minutes,” the hostess shouted over the rising din. “We’ll rotate the gentlemen every five minutes,” she said as she escorted the first man to my chair.
It was hard to imagine, but this guy made Elmer look like Gerard Butler.
He leered.
I fiddled with my purse and watched the hostess point the other men toward a table for the first round.
“Okay. Your time starts”—the hostess hit a button on her watch—“now!”
Tall, dark, and creepy sat. “Hi.” His voice was a low rumble. You know the old television show
The Addams Family
? Lurch. “I’m Adam. Troll. You?”
Adam? Fitting. “My name’s ... Sue.
Half
-elf.”
“Oh,” he said. “Half?” Then, nothing. He stared.
This was hell.
“What do you do for a living?” I asked, wondering how long five minutes could possibly last. I swear that five hours had passed.
“Butcher.”
Ew. And ew.
“I’m thinking about becoming a vegetarian.”
A little chime sounded. I was so happy that I almost jumped out of my seat and did a little dance.
“Time’s up,” our hostess announced in a singsong. “Gentlemen, please move one table to the left.”
A short, squat man took Adam’s place. “Greg,” he said, his voice a whiny, weaselly, nasally sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Goblin.”
Apparently, Elmer wasn’t kidding. This was speed dating for the otherworldly. I hadn’t realized there were so many of them around the DC area. I supposed I shouldn’t have been shocked.
“Sarah,” I said. “
Half
-elf.” I emphasized the
half
part again, hoping that would squash the interest I saw glittering in his freakish rodent-like eyes.
“Very glad to meet you,” he began. Then, “I’ve-never-been-to-one-of-these-events-have-you-I-have-to-say-this-isn’t-what-I-thought-it-would-be... .” And on. And on. And on.
He filled every excruciating second of the next five minutes with one long, rambling, horrifically boring run-on sentence that went nowhere and made my eyes water.
My next “date” was a zombie. Bob. Bob’s ear fell off in the middle of our conversation. I almost lost my dinner. Things went south from there; blocks of five minutes spent with the weird, the scary, and the freakishly bizarre, culminating in my worst nightmare. At the very end of the evening, our hostess announced that the men were free to go and talk to any lady they might be interested in seeing again. Every one of them came back to my table.
Every. Single. One.
Gee, I was popular. With the undead. The living dead. And the soon-to-be dead.
Lucky me.
There was only one bright spot in this otherwise dreary evening. Elmer had his pick of all the other women in the room.
 
 
My alarm clock made some sort of bizarre noise, making me lurch upright. I smacked the snooze button. The noise didn’t stop. I switched it off. The noise didn’t stop.
“What the hell?”
“Sloan,” Katie yelled from her room. “Would you answer your freaking phone?”
“Phone?” Blinking in the dark, I groped for my cell phone. Checked it. Sure enough, it was the source of the noise. But I hadn’t changed the ringer. Strange. I hit the button. “Hello?”
“I apologize for waking you, Sloan,” Chief Peyton said on the other end. “But there’s been another murder. I’d like you to head over to the crime scene before the victim’s cleared away.”
“Oh. Sure.” I took down the address and then stumbled my way into the bathroom. Glad I’d managed to escape the speed-dating thing relatively early (never again!), I took care of the essentials. A scorching hot shower partially woke me. The huge cup of coffee-to-go finished the job. By the time I’d arrived at the residence of Laura Volpe, I was feeling downright perky.
Until I saw JT.
Of course he’d be here. The chief liked to pair the two of us together.
“Hey,” he said as I strolled toward the house.
“Good morning.” A weird moment passed between us. Awkward silence. I motioned toward the door. “Are we clear to go inside?”
“Not yet.”
I nodded.
He motioned toward a huddled circle of people. “They’re questioning the husband.”
“Another married victim?” I asked.
“I heard he was in bed with her. Just like the others.”
“This is too weird. How could he not have woken up?” Then an idea flashed in my head. “Has anyone tested the husbands?”
“For what?”
“Drugs.”
“I don’t think so. I see where you’re going with it. Let’s see if we can get him to submit voluntarily to a quick blood screen.” He motioned for me to follow him as he headed toward a pair of men standing on the porch. “I don’t think you’ve met Detective McGrane yet,” he told me. “He’s the lead on this one. Detective, this is Sloan Skye. She suggested we might want to ask the husband if he’ll submit to a blood screen.”
“What’re you looking for?” the detective asked.
“GHB? Any kind of amnesic or central-nervous-system depressant,” I answered. “This is the third kill by this unsub. And every time, there’s been someone in bed with the victim during the attack. And yet none of them have been able to recall anything.”
“Damn.” McGrane nodded. “I’ll see what we can do. Thanks. We were looking at the husband.”
“Never a bad idea,” JT said. “But so far, the others have checked out.”
“Got it. Who are the leads on the other kills?”
“Just one. Riggleman.”
McGrane nodded. “I’ll call him. Get all the details. I’ll be taking over the case from here.”
A member of the crime scene team interrupted the conversation. “We’re set.”
“Find anything?” McGrane asked.
The tech shrugged. “This is the cleanest scene I’ve ever seen. We got nothing. Not a drop of blood. No fibers. No fingerprints.”
“Just like the other two,” I said.
McGrane shook his head. “There must be something. We’re not looking in the right places.”
The tech said, “We scoured the place, top to bottom.”
“If it’s okay, we’d like to head inside,” JT said to McGrane.
“Sure.”
I followed JT after thanking the detective.
JT inspected the door first. “No sign of tampering with the door. How the hell is he getting in?”
“Maybe he’s sneaking in when the door’s unlocked,” I suggested. “He could be hiding until the victim goes to bed.”
“Hiding. Hmm ...” He headed up the stairs, following the sounds of voices toward the bedroom.
I trailed behind; my gaze scrutinized everything as I walked. The steps. The banister. The walls. The framed black-and-white photographs that were hanging there. They looked so happy, Mr. Volpe and his wife. The last photo, at the very top of the stairs, made my blood run cold. She was wearing a white button-down shirt. The buttons were open from just under her ample breasts down, exposing a very round belly.
“Please tell me she wasn’t pregnant too.”
At the door, a uniformed cop looked at me funny. “She was. How’d you know?”
JT and I exchanged looks.
There could be no doubt. This was our guy.
Inside the bedroom, the ME looked to be finishing up his preliminary investigation. JT went straight to him. “Do you have a COD?” he asked.
“Exsanguination.”
“The fetus?”
“No heartbeat. Looks like she’s already delivered.”
“Did you find the puncture wound?”
“Groin.”
A bird chattered outside, drawing my attention. A dark shadow flashed across the window. I went to it, checked it. It was shut but unlocked. I opened the window and a black feather floated into the room on a soft breeze. A branch of the sickly maple tree outside, blown by a stronger gust, swayed. The black-red leaves rippled.
“What do you see?” JT asked.
“Nothing. Just a shadow. Must have come from the tree.” I closed the window. “This was unlocked. But that tree outside is half dead.” I pointed at the leafless limbs closest to us. “There’s no way the limbs nearest to the window could support a grown adult.” As if to support my theory, one snapped off and fell to the ground.
“So we still have no idea how the unsub is getting in,” JT summed up.
“I’m still thinking a door. It’s the most logical.”
“Let’s go talk to the husband. We’ll see if he can tell us anything.”
“Okay. Did you get anything from the victim?” I asked.
“Not a damn thing.”
We found Volpe sitting in his living room, looking miserable and confused and overwhelmed. He had an elbow bent and was holding a piece of gauze against his arm. I was hoping that meant he’d agreed to the blood test. JT introduced us, as I’d come to expect.
“Mike Volpe.” The man gave us each a nod. “I’ve told the police everything I know. I even gave them some blood.”
“I’m sure they’re grateful for your help,” I said.
Volpe checked his arm. “I just don’t understand. It’s so strange. It almost doesn’t feel real. It’s like I’m going to walk upstairs and she’ll be there, sleeping. And I’ll learn it was all a sick joke.” He wadded up the gauze.
Shit, there was nothing to say to that. “I’m sorry.”
“Would you mind answering a few questions?” JT asked.
“No.” Volpe stared at the ball of gauze in his hand.
“Do you keep all your doors locked at night?” JT asked.
“Of course.”
“Windows?” I asked.
“The windows on the first floor are locked every night. When I was a kid, we had a break-in one night. Scared the shit out of me. I always lock the doors and windows. Don’t worry about the second floor so much. There’s no way for anyone to break in up there.”

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